


The One-Eyed Jackal

by kyella14



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avenger Harry Potter, Bisexual Harry Potter, Character Death, F/F, F/M, Female Harry Potter, LGBTQ Character, Master of Death Harry Potter, No pairings yet - Freeform, Non-Graphic Violence, OP Harry Potter, Past Harry Potter/Daphne Greengrass - Freeform, The Ten Rings (Marvel), fusion crossover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:53:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26077507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyella14/pseuds/kyella14
Summary: A preliminary assessment of an excavation site ends in tragedy. The team of four, presumed dead, swallowed by the ever-shifting sands of Cairo’s deserts, lost to the legendary tomb of Hager. Among them, Jessamine Potter, whose body was never uncovered.Essa has lived in fear of herself for six years since that day. All that she loves and knows she has given up to protect her family and friends from the dangerous power that slumbers within her, always only a fingertip’s length from being unleashed. Now, she resides in Masika, Egypt. But when a young Muggleborn takes ill with Dragon Pox, Essa cannot resist helping him. Doing so, however, draws the attention of the Ten Rings, and with it, the destruction of the peaceful life she has managed to construct for herself.Follow Wizarding Britain’s fallen saviour as she returns to the fold and her rise to become the most lethal Avenger, the One-Eyed Jackal.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 123





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Updates will be weekly until Chapter Four, after which we'll see as we go. Most likely will be sporadic following that.

**Commence Part I: Origin.**

_  
October 31st, 2001_

“I’m off, love,” Essa said, swooping down as she passed through the kitchen to press a kiss on Daphne’s mouth. She grinned at the taste of bacon and pancakes. “Yum.”

Daphne swatted her away. “Stop stealing my breakfast.”

“But it’s so delicious,” Essa whispered into Daphne’s ear, delighting at the gentle flush that suffused her lover’s cheeks.

“Is it?” Daphne said, her bright blue eyes alight with humour. She tugged her down for another long, languid kiss. Essa groaned as Daphne traced a hand down her midriff and wandered closer to the waist of her pants. Giving her a last lick, Daphne peeled away, her breathing heavy. Her voice was husky in a way that sent a thrill straight through Essa’s belly. “Was that good?”

“Fantastic,” Essa managed. “Delicious bacon.”

Daphne huffed and gave her a playful glare. “Come back safe.”

“We’re just doing a survey today, so don’t worry,” Essa replied. “Just two wizards, a witch and a goblin in a desert—there’s a joke in there somewhere, I’m sure of it—”

“Spare my ears from it,” Daphne interrupted.

“Luckily for you,” Essa said, stealing another kiss, “I haven’t thought of the joke yet. So it’ll have to wait until tonight, then you can hear _all_ about it…”

“Gods, you’re terrible,” Daphne said, throwing her head back in laughter. Essa admired the pale column of skin that revealed to her, light blue veins running underneath that she wanted to trace with her tongue and— “Love, you’re running late.”

“Bollocks,” Essa muttered.

“Go,” she said, smirking. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

They shared another kiss before Essa pulled away, dancing back a couple of steps lest she be tempted again. “I love you,” she said.

“I love you too.”

Essa felt that giddy feeling that always accompanied those three words leaving Daphne’s lips. A ridiculous, bubbly happiness that built in her chest and shot through her veins. She was still grinning when she went into the Floo and emerged a moment later in the Ministry of Magic’s Atrium. 

“Good morning, eh?” 

“Shut it, Weasley,” Essa said. 

“Ah, young love,” Bill said as he fell in step next to her. “When Fleur and I first moved in together, we used to have _fantastic_ morn—”

“All right, old man,” Essa said. “I do not want to know anything about what you and Fleur get up to. Just update me on the site.”

“Prude,” Bill said with an easy grin. 

“ _Bill_.”

“All right, all right,” he said. “Clawtear is already on-site with Lynx—took a Gringotts Portkey. They’re waiting for us before they start the survey. Judging from appearance alone, though, it’s a good one. Clawtear’s confident the tomb was built by one of the more powerful magicians, perhaps even Hager himself.”

“Hager? You mean—this could be it? _The_ tomb?” Essa said excitedly. Hager had been a notorious magician of Ancient Egypt, known for his vast necromantic skill and his boasted ability to traverse the realm of the dead. He had become something of a legend in Curse-Breaker circles, for rumour had it that he had built himself a tomb in which he could forever rest, layering it with spells, curses and enchantments to protect his legacy from thieves—not that it had been necessary. His reputation had been such that no thief even dared to step within vicinity of his tomb; by the time the terror of his legend had faded to mere wariness centuries later, his tomb had been buried beneath the desert’s shifting sands. Finding Hager’s tomb was the dream of many a Curse-Breaker—Essa could scarcely imagine the treasures and the knowledge it likely contained—if, even, it existed.

“Maybe,” Bill said. He sent her a warning look. “But remember, Essa—if this is Hager’s tomb… it’s going to be dangerous. Clawtear wants to approach this carefully.”

She sobered slightly. “Of course,” she said. “Still, _Hager’s_ tomb. Can you imagine?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he said, but she spotted a small smile curve his lips. “It _might_ be Hager’s tomb. We’re not sure yet.”

They arrived at the Portkey desk and after a tedious bit of ‘You’re Jessamine Potter!’ they each had a finger laid on an squashed up Coca-Cola can. “It was ever such a pleasure, Miss Potter!” the Portkey manager squeaked. “Your Portkey will leave in five seconds—do come back round this way, won’t you? My friends would be so—”

The hook around Essa’s navel was sudden, jolting and nauseating. They spiralled through space, twisting and turning this way and that until the world was a blur of colours and dizziness. The air was ripped from her lungs until—

Her feet slammed down firmly onto solid ground. “Never gets better, does it?” Essa gasped. 

Bill shuddered, a green tinge to his face. “Never,” he agreed. “International Portkeys are the absolute worst.” 

“Bill Weasley and Jessamine Potter?” an Egyptian witch said boredly from the side, her English accented with the hard sibilance and rolling ‘r’s of her mother tongue. “Identification, please.”

“How is Victoire?” Essa said as the witch checked their forms. “Last I heard, she was just learning her swears.”

“Thanks to George,” Bill grumbled. “She’s great. Called me an ‘arse’ the other day, actually, when I wouldn’t let her get on her toy broomstick.”

Essa laughed. “Smart girl.”

“She’s got her mother’s spirit,” he said, exasperated but fond. 

“And Fleur?”

“She’s getting to that point where she wants kale topped with tomato sauce and pumpkin juice.”

Essa wrinkled her nose. “Gods.”

“Yeah.” Then he frowned. “She’s been complaining about pains in her chest too, actually. Not really sure what that’s about.”

“Daph could have a look,” Essa offered. 

“Could she? That’d be really great,” Bill said, looking relieved. “We’ve been meaning to go to the Healer but both of us have been absolutely swamped at Gringotts—especially with this find.”

“Go through,” the Egyptian witch said dully.

“Thanks,” Essa muttered. “You’ll Apparate? I haven’t been there yet.”

“Sure,” Bill said, and extended his elbow to her as they drew closer to the Apparition point. 

“But really, Daphne would be more than happy to have a look at Fleur. Mind, she’ll tell you that you should still go to the Healers because she isn’t technically fully qualified and whatnot,” Essa said. “But don’t believe that rubbish; she’s brilliant.” This was said with a proud beam. Daphne was due to graduate in two months, and was the top of her Healer class. 

“It’d be a huge relief to me and Fleur,” Bill said. “Thank you, Essa, really.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Thank Daphne after I ask her. I’m just the eye candy on her arm.”

Bill snorted. “Brace yourself.”

“I hate Side-Along,” Essa grumbled, and squeezed her eyes shut. 

The Apparition was almost as bad as the Portkey. Essa arrived at the beginnings of a campsite with bile rising in the back of her throat, eyes squeezed shut in a valiant effort to suppress the urge to vomit. When at last the nausea subsided, Essa opened her eyes to see the sloping, wavy hills of the desert, Cairo on the northern horizon, a mere strip of uneven grey in the distance. The desert’s sun was scorching, unforgivingly hot on her skin, reddening it within seconds of exposure. The heat rose from the pale sands, distorting the atmosphere, boiling the very air itself. Sweat budded on her forehead. Much as she loved her job, a lot of it was based in Egypt, the weather of which she could do without.

“Took you long enough,” Clawtear shouted. The goblin stomped up to Essa and Bill, looking distinctly annoyed. “Are you two going to stand around all day? Come on.”

Essa exchanged an amused look with Bill, and followed after the goblin. Lynx had pitched a shade and conjured a chair in which he was now lounging. Upon their approach, he glanced up with a lazy smile. “Finally,” Lynx said. “Thought to grace us with your presence at last, eh, Saviour?”

“Fuck off,” Essa said with a fierce scowl. 

He snickered. “She’s feisty, ladies and gentlemen.”

Essa twitched, fighting the urge to knock him off his blasted chair, face-first into the sand. Bill nudged her sharply in the ribs. She took a breath. “Where is it?” she said with as much professional dignity as she could muster.

“Over there,” Lynx said, giving a vague wave in an easterly direction. His feet didn’t so much as twitch. 

“I’ll show you,” Bill said with a roll of his eyes. She followed him, and as they drew closer, Essa began to see a slight shimmer in the air, the tell-tale distortion that belonged to the standard proximity wards set up by Curse-Breakers around a site which kept most prying eyes from it. She practically vibrated with excitement, struggling to match her pace with Bill’s and not run ahead of him. At last, they arrived, and the wards washed over her as though passing through a vacuum. She saw it then, half-buried in the sands still, yet the surface that had been uncovered was immense in its vastness. It seemed to stretch at least fifty feet from where she stood, a wall of smooth, pale stone. Her surprise rose next, for the tomb seemed to be built underground, burrowing into the earth, instead of stacked to the skies. Right before her, there was a false door, painted onto the structure in red tinges.

“Either there is something special about this tomb,” Essa said, kneeling down before the stone entrance, “or Hager was much older than we thought.” Her eyes narrowed as she read the markings etched around the entrance, all carved painstakingly in echoes of an elegant hand. Now the hieroglyphs were worn and faded from time, chafed into smoothness by nature’s forces. Nevertheless… 

The hairs on her arm stood.

“Both, I’d wager, if it is Hager’s tomb,” Bill said, oblivious to Essa’s sudden unease. He pointed at the frame of the false door. “See how it curves? Supposedly, Hager lived around 2000BC. But this false door is one of the earliest versions—at least 2700BC. It was well out of fashion by the time Hager lived—theoretically, he could have been one to favour tradition, I suppose, but…”

“It doesn’t sit right,” Essa agreed.

“No,” Bill said. “It doesn’t.”

“Where is the real entrance?”

“On the far side, over there,” Bill said, pointing. “We’ll have to do a bit of digging before we can get a good look at what nasty surprises are in store for us…”

“Well, then,” Essa said, standing on sore knees. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

——

Their excavation progressed quickly, especially since even Clawtear deigned to help. The goblins didn’t usually bother with labour, but the possibility of having found Hager’s tomb made it too enticing a prospect for even the snootiest of goblins to stay away from. It helped, having a goblin dig. Even with spells, witches and wizards could never quite get the knack of burrowing into the earth that goblins, subterranean creatures that they were, simply had. 

“Don’t get too close,” Clawtear said as they at last found the ridge that indicated the door’s frame. “This could be dangerous.”

“Didn’t know you cared, Clawtear,” Bill said.

“If you die, I have to do paperwork,” Clawtear said flatly. 

“He cares,” Bill whispered, eliciting a snort from Essa.

They struck gold when they uncovered a few more inches. “Is that?” Essa said excitedly. She almost reached out to trace her fingers along the image—the Was scepter, encircled by Ouroboros—before she remembered herself.

“Hager’s symbol,” Bill said, eyes wide with awe. 

“Excellent,” Clawtear said with a vicious smile. His eyes gleamed with undisguised greed.

Lynx moved a heapful of sand out of the way with a look of supreme boredom. “When I decided to be a Curse-Breaker,” he said huffily, “I thought there’d be less digging. More… excitement.”

“Excitement?” Essa said incredulously. “This is Hager’s tomb! It’s a bloody legend, and we found it.”

“We’re still digging,” Lynx complained. 

“Oh—just shut it and work.”

He muttered something under his breath about ‘arrogant Saviours’, which Essa ignored. She and Bill admired the symbol for a few moments longer before returning to their digging. The silence between them ran like a live wire, excitement thrumming so high in the air that it was a wonder they managed to control their spells well enough to work. It was punctuated only occasionally by banter, which sometimes (once) even successfully drew Clawtear in. The goblin’s sense of humour, when he deigned to share it, was as sharp as his teeth. They paused for a break only after they’d uncovered more than two thirds of the door—even the sheer thrill of finding Hager’s tomb had to give way to the intensity of the Egyptian heat. There were hieroglyphs etched into the door’s surface, which Essa knelt before and again made a study. 

“They’re not spells,” Essa noted with a frown.

“Odd,” Bill said.

Lynx peered at the markings too. “They’re names,” he said after a moment. “Names of pharoahs.”

He was right, Essa realised. The very oldest was positioned on the upper left corner, encircled in a cartouche to signify the pharaoh’s name, and the script worked left to right. Her eyes skimmed all the way to the bottom-most name that was visible. “What on earth?”

“What?” Bill said. 

“Look,” she said quietly, pointing. “Hatshepsut Khnemet-Amun.”

“That can’t be right,” Lynx said, even his bored mask flickering beneath this observation.

“What’s wrong with it?” Bill said, confused.

“Hatshepsut ruled in the 18th Dynasty,” Essa replied. “Around 1400BC.” She scraped away at the sand underneath with her wand, uncovering another line. “And look. That’s Rameses III.”

“A spell,” Clawtear said derisively, but Essa thought she heard a sliver of uncertainty wedged into his gravelly voice. “An old spell to update the door with the rulers of Egypt. Nothing more.”

“Is it just me,” Lynx said suddenly, “or are we… sinking?”

“What?” Essa looked down, and gasped in horror. She was ankle-deep in the sand, and when she tried to pull her legs free, she nearly fell to the side completely. Bill was in the same position, his scarred face twisted with shock and fear as the desert drew him in. He lost his balance and— “Bill!” she shrieked. Cold, raw terror shot through her veins as he began to fall straight toward the entrance, throwing out his hand instinctively to hold onto something. 

Bill’s eyes widened. His hand was about to touch the door—

“ _ACCIO_!” Essa screamed, her wand snapping out a clumsy flare of magic in her desperation. His hand stopped, a mere inch from the door’s surface, and they both loosed a shaky breath. “Fuck.”

“Thanks, Essa,” Bill said, his face completely bloodless. 

“Don’t thank me ye—” Her words lurched into a shrill scream as suddenly, she was free-falling through the air, the desert swallowing her whole. The air roared around her ears, and she felt cold certainty that she was about to di—

The breath was knocked entirely from her lungs by the impact. Every bone in her body rattled, and her scream ended in a choked, broken gasp. She blacked out, for how long she was not sure. Pain. A flare of heat in her ribs. Broken bones. Her fingers reached blindly for her wand, but found only dusty stone. It was complete darkness around her. “L-L-” She took a shuddering breath that wracked her body with pain. “L-L- _Lumos_.”

A dim glow to her left. She turned her chin just an inch. There. It was close. She stretched her arm, grunting in pain as she did so. She felt her fingertips brush warm wood. A little further. Her fingers slipped.

“ _Accio_ ,” she managed, sighing in relief when her hand curled tight around her beloved wand. She drew it up to her ribs. “ _Episkey_ ,” she coughed. Another flare of white-hot pain. A loud crack. The bone snapped back into place and she gasped for air, feeling the burn of its relief in her chest. She rolled to her side. She coughed again, dust and blood spitting out from her lips. Her mouth was sweet, tanged with the taste. Not good. “Anyone? Bill?”

Silence.

“Clawtear?”

A grunt. 

Essa pushed herself up to her knees and rose unsteadily. She felt as though her entire body was bruised. Blood ran warm and sticky down one side of her face. “Fuck,” she groaned, almost toppling over again. “ _Lumos maxima_.”

The light on the tip of her wand flared brighter. She caught a figure to her left, shifting in the shadows, and stumbled her way over there. “Clawtear?”

“P-Potter?” 

It was Lynx, his dark hair painted white with dust, a massive cut running from temple to jaw. Essa bent over him, sweeping a critical eye over him. Blood pooled out under his leg, and when she peeled back the hem of his pants, she hissed in sympathy.

“What is it?” he panted. The vein in his neck throbbed from pain.

“Broken ankle,” she said simply, deciding not to mention that the bone was sticking out. 

“Fix it,” Lynx spat.

“It’ll hurt.”

“I’m not a whiny cunt about to cry if it hurts a l—FUUUUCK!”

“I told you,” Essa murmured. It was entirely the wrong time for it, but she could not help the small, satisfied smirk that flitted across her expression at Lynx’s agonised look. 

“Where are the others?” he said, managing to sit up after a minute. 

“Not sure,” Essa said with a sharp twist of anxiety.

“Where are we?”

“Not sure,” she said again. “But… if I had to guess, I’d say we’re in Hager’s tomb.”

Lynx swore. 

“Can you walk?” Essa said.

“Yeah,” he muttered. She helped him up, seizing onto him even when he tried to reject her help. 

“Don’t be an idiot,” she hissed. “We don’t have time for this. We need to find the others before we’re even more fucked than we are already.”

“Shut up, Potter,” Lynx said, but he let her help him up, and even accepted it when she slung his arm over her shoulder. “There’s a door over there.” He jerked his chin to his right.

“I see it,” Essa said, and they hobbled over, with only the wobbling light from Essa’s wand to guide them. The chamber they were in was empty and bare, even the walls devoid of any markings or décor. The next room, however, was a much different beast entirely. Fat, towering pillars reached higher than the ceilings of Great Hall at Hogwarts. The columns and walls were lavishly painted, and all over, Essa saw Hager’s motif over and over again, simply repeating itself. The Ouroboros twined the length of the walls, one snake consuming the tail of the next, and on and on it went, a great circle looping around the room. And at the end, a throne placed on a dais, with twin braziers, unlit, on either side. “How’s this for excitement, Lynx?”

He sniffed, looking around with a wary eye. She caught the glimmer of fear, burning strong within, but held her tongue. “This place is... creepy.”

“You’ve been in dozens of tombs,” Essa said. “Surely you’ve seen stranger things?”

“Well, yes,” he said. “But… doesn’t it feel like they’re watching you?”

It did, actually. Every nerve in her body was alive right now, prickling with tension and fear. The very air seemed to sing a warning—that something was not right, something was strange…

“Let’s keep going,” Essa said quietly.

Lynx nodded, a touch too eager. They left the room behind, occasionally stopping to check for traps, wards—anything. They found several spells, but they were non-offensive in nature, and, Essa suspected, more for keeping the place preserved. Everything in these rooms looked as though they’d been painted and carved just a week ago, instead of a millennia. It was by far the best preserved tomb she’d been in. Judging from the look of awe that flickered over his face each time they entered a new room, Lynx felt the same way. Still, the uneasy feeling she had only grew stronger. No spells. No wards. No protections. And there were too many rooms—far too many. Not to mention they’d been walking for what felt like an hour and still had yet to find the burial chamber. It felt more like a palace than a tomb.

“It’s not right,” Essa murmured. “Where are the traps? Where are the wards?”

“It’s an easy job,” Lynx said, and despite his apparent bravado, his unease shone through. 

“Hager’s tomb? I doubt it.”

“I—did you hear that?” Lynx said suddenly.

Essa quieted, listening hard for any noise. She heard the echo of their breathing mostly, then—footsteps, shuffling and uneven. 

“Hide,” Lynx hissed, tugging sharply on her arm.

“It could be the others,” she argued.

“It could be a mummy,” Lynx shot back. “Inferi, I don’t know. Hide, you idiot!”

Reluctantly, Essa ducked behind a pillar, settling in in an alcove with Lynx. Their breathing was harsh in the silence. The footsteps grew louder. But there was light too, she realised—light from a Lumos, and therefore, it was no Inferius or mummy. She darted out, ignoring Lynx’s half-whispered shout of, “Potter!”

It was Bill and Clawtear.

“Thank Merlin,” she said, her relief washing over her, so intense that she nearly stumbled. Bill’s expression was awash with the same relief, and they lunged for each other in the same breath, clasping each other in a tight embrace. “I thought—I was so worried—”

“I thought too,” Bill muttered. 

“How bloody touching,” Lynx said, sticking his head out with a sour expression on his face.

“You got stuck with him?” Bill said.

“Yeah,” Essa mumbled irritably. 

“Enough chatter,” Clawtear snapped. “Have you two found anything interesting?”

“We found a throne room back there,” Essa said.

“A throne room?” Bill said, eyebrow arched. 

“Yeah. What did you two find?”

“A lot of empty rooms, like this one,” Bill said. “You noticed how the paintings are all—”

“Preserved? Yes, I did.”

“Did you actually look at them?”

“No,” Essa admitted. “We noticed Hager’s symbol in the throne room, but beyond that, we were more focused on finding you two.”

“Essa,” Bill said, an anxious look in his eye. “Each room is dedicated to a different pharaoh. I think we came from the later ages—the room we crashed into was dedicated to Cleopatra VII. The walls were painted with images of her reign—how she rose to power, how eventually, Egypt fell under her rule. This one—this one is one of the pharaohs from mid-2000 BC, I forget which… Either way, it’s not possible, Essa, no magic can create a new room for each pharaoh and record their history in the walls like this—not without someone actually directing the magic.”

A cold trickle of fear began to work into her mind, and this time, it would not be so easily uprooted. It hooked into her brain, whispering and murmuring—realisation struck like an awful bolt of lightning. “Shit,” she breathed.

“What?” Bill said.

“You’re right,” Essa said through numb lips. “No magic can do this without someone directing it. Hager didn’t build this place to die in—he built it to live in.”

“Are you saying he’s been alive all this time?” Lynx said, pale and disbelieving.

“That’s why there are no protections—nobody puts lethal wards _inside_ their home,” Essa said.

“That’s not possible,” Clawtear said, his eyes narrowed. “A wizard’s trick—”

“It’s possible,” Essa said flatly. Her voice darkened. “There are ways of achieving immortality—dark magic, very dark magic.”

“We need to go,” Bill said grimly.

“How?” Lynx demanded. He looked sweaty, and Essa suddenly noticed how terribly close to passing out he looked. “There’s no exit—we fell in, remember?”

“Sit down,” Essa said sharply when he swayed. “Fuck, Lynx, sit down.” He opened his mouth to retort, but whatever he was going to say was lost when his eyes rolled up in his skull and he crumpled. Essa darted forwards, just managing to stop his head from cracking against the ground. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Bill said.

“Don’t know,” she muttered, kneeling over him. No wounds that she could tell of and yet… “He’s running a fever.”

“We should leave him,” Clawtear said. 

“We’re not leaving him,” Essa snarled. She turned to Bill. “Have you got any Fever Reducers on you?”

He dug in his pockets, and eventually pulled out a red sweet. She stared at him. “Look, it’s all I’ve got, yeah?” he said defensively. “Besides, the twins might have made this for pranks, but it’s pretty effective.”

“Fine,” Essa said, and shoved the sweet into Lynx’s mouth. “It’s not working.”

“Let me have a look,” Bill said. She moved aside to allow him room. Essa fell back into a sitting position as he worked, feeling her exhaustion crawl through her. Clawtear stood nearby, looking deeply frustrated. And… was it her imagination, or did he look faint too?

“Clawtear?” she said cautiously.

“What?” the goblin snapped. Yet there was a definite slur to his voice, one which alarmed Essa into motion immediately. She reached for him. “Don’t touch me, human.”

“Bill,” she called.

“What?” was the absent reply.

Clawtear collapsed. “Shit,” Essa spat. “Bill, Clawtear is down too. How are you feeling? Bill?” She glanced over, and her heart dropped straight to her gut. Bill was slumped over Lynx’s form, both limp. She made her way over, but even as she crawled, she could feel the weakness seize her legs, her arms, and her head was so woozy…

She only had another moment of clear consciousness, long enough to fear.

——

_“It is good to meet you.”_

_Essa lifted her head groggily. The world was a blur of colours around her, light and shadow blending in strange, impossible swirls. “What?” she mumbled._

_“I have waited for a long time,” the voice said. It was strangely accented, as though it was a blend from dozens of places in the world. A shadow loomed over her. She could make out no features in his face, only dark shadows where his eyes were. A hand pressed over her forehead._

_“Who are you?” she whispered. She tried to move, but her limps would not obey. She felt… so terribly weak. As though even the slightest movement ripped energy from her and threatened to send her spiralling back into the dark of the unconscious mind. “What’s happening to me?” Panic echoed in her voice. Even that was vague, scattered._

_“I am Hager,” the voice said. “And you are dying.”_

_Dying. Her mind wavered, loosening its grip on lucidity. “I feel like I’m dying,” she mumbled._

_“Let go.”_

_She lost her grip._


	2. Chapter One: The Witch of Masika

_December 18th, 2007_

_Sinai Peninsula, Egypt_

Masika was, for the most part, a quiet village in the south of the Sinai Peninsula. Its population was just over one hundred, and most had lived there for all their lives. Economy was slow, but they had learned to manage. Little of note had occurred there in the last decades—and when three years ago, a newcomer had settled in the area, the unease had been run rampant.

That the newcomer was a young, white woman was only the source of even more suspicion. For weeks, they had stayed away from her, and she had done so in kind, only coming into the village rarely to purchase necessities from local stores. Some said she was a spy from America, but this was largely refuted by shrewder minds, who did not think an American spy would choose this sleepy little village to settle in. In the months after, as whispers travelled from house to house, a picture was built of this strange white woman. The fruit grocer said that she spoke Masri,the common dialect of Egypt well, though with a heavy accent. His wife noted that she was quite pretty, but did not like to make eye contact. One of the more daring boys had followed her home, wondering what sort of house the foreigner lived in. He had later been rebuked by his parents, but not before he had discovered that she lived in a stocky hut on the western fringes of the village, one that was considered to be quite modest in this poor village.

The first one to attempt to engage her in conversation was young Shani, who had just recently wed. To the villagers’ disapproval, she had not adjusted well, and was often seen trying her best to avoid going home to her husband, labouring at errands for longer than necessary. More than once, she had spoken of travelling outside Masika, outside of Egypt. She wanted to see America and Britain—to live like a white, to dress like a white. She often asked friends to bring back American movies and TV shows, and studied them as though it contained all the answers in the world. It was this obsession with the Western world, they speculated, that had led to Shani’s eventual decision to seek out the foreigner.

However, their disapproval of Shani’s behaviour was somewhat offset by the fact that the foreigner seemed to want nothing to do with her. The most Shani had gotten out of the woman was a name to at last go with her face—Essa. Eventually, Essa’s stubbornness had proved too strong even for Shani’s determination, and the latter’s attempts to befriend her had petered off. Shani’s talk of travelling to America dwindled too, much to her husband’s relief. It seemed she was ready to settle into proper married life.

At least, that was what Thema had thought before today. She’d woken up on Monday morning to find that her son had fallen ill, running a fever so high he was insensible to the world. She’d gone to the local doctor, who had pronounced that it was merely a flu, and had given medication for Karim to take. Thema and Amr had paid the expenses. Yet Friday had dawned with no sign of his fever abating. She’d gone to Shani then, whose husband was one of the few in the village who owned a car, but upon pleading Shani for assistance, she was told that Hussein was in Cairo for business, and had taken the car with him.

“But he needs the hospital,” Thema had said desperately.

Shani had given her an uncharacteristically serious look. “I may be able to help,” she’d said quietly. “But you must not tell anyone else. Not Hussein, not my mother—not even Amr.”

“I promise, I promise,” Thema had said. She’d not even given a second thought to what she was promising. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Follow me.”

So Thema had followed, carrying her eight-year-old boy in her arms. Shani had been strange the entire way, taking her in winding, nonsensical routes through the village, always wary of anyone watching. When they had made it out of the village without being seen, Thema had realised where Shani was taking her. “We can’t go there!” Thema had hissed, eyes wide.

“She can help,” Shani had said. Her dark eyes had looked pleadingly into Thema’s, and Thema had found her resolve slowly crumbling beneath the weight of Shani’s certainty and her concern for her son.

“How can she help?” Thema had asked.

“She has medicine. Good medicine.”

“How do you know it is good medicine?”

“Sometimes she is ill. She takes some strange medicine,” Shani had said with a small shrug. “Then she gets better.”

So Thema had gone with Shani, despite her misgivings. If the foreigner had medicine, then it was all that mattered in the end. She feared though, that she would refuse them at the door. The foreigner wanted nothing to do with the locals—she had made that clear with her distance. Except, Thema realised, that was not entirely true. “You are friends with her?” she asked Shani, not quite able to keep the accusation from her tone.

Shani bit her lip guiltily. “She’s nice,” Shani said.

“Hussein does not know.”

“No.”

“No one knows.”

Shani shook her head. Thema wanted to say more, to accuse her of being foolish and reckless. But the weight of her son in her arms stayed her tongue. If the white woman could help, then Thema surely could not begrudge Shani’s friendship with her. She resolved, however, to speak to Shani when this was all over.

Thema saw the house emerging from behind large tree as they approached. It was the first time she had ever seen the house before—she had always done her best to avoid this region, for she knew that the foreigner lived here. When Feme’s boy had described the house, Thema had imagined it to be a decrepit thing, near collapse and poorly structured. But it was far from it. Though indeed small and old, it was sturdily built, and somehow, the foreigner had managed to create a flourishing garden. Stones paved the way to the front door, nestled in a bed of lush, deep green grass. Lining the house were plants that Thema had never seen on the ground before—flowers with thin stems and gleaming leaves; two towering trees that bore oranges and apples, grown in a bed of soil that somehow did not crack beneath the heat, remaining moist and cool. The air was sweeter, heavier, as though it had been visited by fresh rain, though no such thing had occurred in Masika for months. Beyond the wooden fencing of the front yard, it felt as though Thema was no longer in Egypt.

As much as it awed her, it made her afraid. “Is this sorcery?” she whispered, shying away from the fallen fruit nestled in damp soil.

Shani either did not hear her or chose not to answer. “Come,” her friend said. She knocked on the door twice.

There were quiet footsteps on the other side, and Thema shrunk back, wrapping Karim closer in her arms, as though to shield his face from view. He mumbled incoherently, and she felt the heat of his fever burn through her.

The door opened. Thema had seen the foreigner before, but always from a distance. The first thing Thema noticed were green eyes. They were a striking feature—more striking than her pale skin, shining out even beneath the shock of black hair that swept over her forehead, uncontrollably messy. The woman gave Thema an inscrutable look, and her eyes dipped toward Karim. Thema huddled him closer to her. “Shani,” she said in her strange accent. “What are you doing?” Thema noted with surprise that the woman spoke not in Masri, but the local dialect. Shani must have taught her.

“My friend’s son is sick,” Shani said pleadingly. “He has a fever… the doctor in the village is useless and we have no cars to go to the hospital.”

“I am no doctor,” the foreigner said.

“But you have medicine, don’t you?” Shani said. “I’ve seen you taking them… those bottles…”

“They are my medicine,” the woman said flatly. “They would only harm the boy.”

Shani licked her lips, looking nervous. “Surely you have something, Essa. Something that can help.”

Essa looked at Thema, who nearly flinched from the cold look in her eyes. It terrified her more than the impossibility of her garden, but… Karim stirred in her arms. “ _Please_ ,” Thema managed, scrounging up the English word from her memory.

At last, Essa relented, and nudged the door open. “Come then,” she said grudgingly. “Let us see what we can do for him. You are Thema and Karim, no?”

“I—yes,” Thema said, stunned.

“Shani talks about you a lot,” Essa said. The hut’s interior was dimly lit, and in the shadows, the woman seemed paler and smaller, and Thema suddenly noticed that beneath the pair of vibrant green eyes were permanent bags, reddish bruises that spoke of a long weariness. She took them to what was clearly her bedroom, with a thin mattress laid down on the wooden floors. “Lay him down here.”

Thema glanced uncertainly at Shani, who simply smiled back with an encouraging look. Swallowing, she set Karim down gently onto the mattress. He looked pale and sweaty, his breathing shallow. Essa bent over him, examining him carefully. For all that she had said she was not a doctor, Thema thought the woman seemed to know what she was doing, listening to his chest and checking his temperature with a furrowed brow. She even brought out a torchlight and looked down Karim’s throat, then took off his shirt and checked his torso. As she examined Karim, Thema noticed that she wore a strange bracelet on her left wrist, a crude, ugly thing that seemed to be carved with hieroglyphs.

At last, Essa sank back onto her heels, but the deep frown on her face only boded ill for Thema. “What’s wrong with him?” Thema said, wringing her hands.

“He will be fine,” Essa said, but the frown remained. “He needs the hospital though.”

“There’s no car!” Thema cried.

“The car does not matter,” Essa said quietly.

“What do you mean?” Shani said.

Essa pursed her lips and looked to Shani, as though uncertain. Thema’s impatience grew as the silent stare went on. At last, Essa said, “Karim is in the early stages of Dragon Pox.”

“Dragon… Pox?” Thema said, her frustration momentarily displaced by bafflement.

Essa fixed her green gaze on Thema, who resisted the urge to look away. “Dragon Pox is a disease that only affects wizards and witches—your son, I think, is what we in Britain call a ‘ _muggleborn_ ’.” The foreign word that rolled off her tongue sounded like a curse to Thema.

“Wizards and witches?” Shani blurted, staring at Essa. “Are you speaking of magic?”

“Magic,” Essa confirmed. “Thema, your son is a wizard.”

So stunned she was that Thema dropped Karim’s hand, and it slid to the floor with a quiet thud. Essa’s eyes darkened. “Sorcery?” Thema said fearfully, looking between Essa and her beloved son. Then she turned to Shani, stricken. “You brought me to this—this evil, Shani!” Her voice had climbed to a shriek, fear and horror a nauseating chaos within her.

“I am a witch,” Essa said flatly. “Not evil. Magic is not evil. I am not evil. Your son is not evil.”

Thema blinked, and stared at Karim. He was such a sweet boy, she thought. To think he had sorcery in his veins… it did not make sense to her.

Shani did not share Thema’s reservations, and had begun to interrogate Essa excitedly. “Can you show us magic?” Shani asked. “Are there others like you? Is it something you learn or something you are born with? What can you do? Can you grant wishes?”

Essa held up a hand as though to shield herself from the onslaught of questions. “There are many like me,” Essa said. “We are all across the world, merely hidden from plain sight. The prosecution of witchcraft in the 16th and 17th centuries sent us into hiding. Yes, we are born with magic. Some come from a long line of magic—some, like Karim here, were born to non-magical parents. As for what we can do… many things. We can conjure water from thin air, heal cuts with an incantation, animate statues…”

“Could you show us?” Shani asked eagerly. Thema recoiled away, a movement that did not go unnoticed by Essa.

“No,” Essa said. Her expression shuttered. “I cannot show you. I have not used magic in many years now.”

“Why not? Have you—did you lose your magic?” Shani asked tentatively.

“It is nearly impossible to lose one’s magic,” Essa informed. “I have never heard of such an incident… nevertheless, my magic is intact… somewhat. I simply choose not to use it.” She looked at Thema, closing that line of conversation firmly. “Karim needs magical healing. I cannot provide it, but I can take you to the wizarding hospital in Cairo.”

Thema swallowed, staring at her son. Her beautiful son. He whimpered in his sleep, and her heart broke. She picked his hand back up, clutching it tightly. “How will we get there?” she asked hoarsely.

Essa’s eyes seemed to warm, but that faded quickly. “We need a fire,” she said, standing. “You may stay with him.” Shani made to stand, and Essa shook her head. “Stay with them.”

Shani frowned, but at the pleading look Thema sent her, she acquiesced. Essa left the room, shutting the door behind her. In the silence, Thema wondered what to say to her old friend. “Aren’t you afraid?” she settled on at last.

“Afraid?” Shani gave her a bewildered look. “There is magic, Thema! Isn’t that wondrous?”

“Magic… magic is evil,” Thema said. That was what she had been taught all her life, what Shani had been taught all her life.

Shani pursed her lips. “I know Essa isn’t evil. She has helped me a lot… taught me a lot,” she said. “Do you think Karim is evil?”

Thema looked down at her son. Just a week ago, he had brought her a desert flower he had found growing nearby, a broad smile on his face, eyes alight with delight. “He’s such a sweet boy,” Thema whispered. “Oh, my boy…” Her eyes watered, breath hitching. Shani came around her side, and wrapped her in a comforting embrace.

“Hush,” Shani said quietly. “He’ll be alright. Just you see. He’ll be alright…”

——

Essa reached into the very back of the cabinet, her fingers groping blindly for the small, wooden box that she’d kept for emergencies. She found it, coated in the grime of dust. Lifting the lid, she saw that she had just enough left for the trip to Cairo. She would have to purchase more while she was there.

Essa set about starting the fire, catching the occasional whisper from her bedroom. Her unease thickened. She had grown used to solitude, and in the recent years, the only guest she’d had to entertain was Shani, who had somehow wormed her way into Essa’s life despite all attempts to keep her at a distance. Nevertheless, Essa had grown to accept Shani’s weekly visits—look forward to it, even. Thema’s presence, on the other hand, felt intrusive.

Yet if Essa was being honest with herself, she recognised that that discomfort stemmed mostly from having a stranger in her home, rather than any rational reason. Thema was a good woman—that, Essa had seen, for despite her initial fear, Thema had put it aside out of love for her son. Essa respected that, despite wishing she could have remained uninvolved in the matter.

Shani emerged from the bedroom as Essa tossed the last log into the fireplace. She blinked. “I always wondered why you had a fireplace,” she said.

Essa glanced at Shani. Another conundrum. “We can travel by fire, if we have the ingredients,” Essa said. “You will have to stay here while we are gone.”

“Why?” Shani demanded fiercely.

“Witches and wizards are secretive,” Essa replied. “Non-magical humans are not supposed to know about magic—I have broken the law already by telling you what I have told you. You cannot come with us. If it is discovered that you are not magical, it will mean trouble for all of us.”

“But Thema knows,” Shani said.

“Thema is Karim’s mother,” Essa said. “Exceptions are made for immediate family.” She paused, frowning. “In Britain, at least. I do not remember the law in Egypt.”

“What do you mean?” Shani asked, a trace of fear seeping into her voice. “Will it be dangerous for Thema?”

Essa pursed her lips. The worst they would do to Essa was a fine. But for Thema, the risks were greater. “It should be fine,” she said, though her tone did not inspire confidence, if the look on Shani’s face was anything to go by. Essa shook her head, and went to the kitchen to look for matches. “Go get Thema and Karim. We will leave soon.”

Shani did not move. “If it’s dangerous, then I’ll go instead of Thema,” she said stubbornly. “You can bring Karim back to her if anything happens to me.”

“No,” Essa said flatly. “You will stay here. This is not a debate. Do you think that Thema would let you go in her stead? Karim is her son.”

“But it’s dangerous—” Shani started, deflating slightly. There was disappointment lined in the set of her shoulders; Shani had hoped, at least partly, to see the magical world herself.

“I will inform her of the risks,” Essa cut her off. She found the box of matches and shook it. A good amount left. She returned to the fireplace and lit it, carefully nurturing the small flame to a blaze. “Get them, please.”

Reluctantly, muttering under her breath in Arabic too quick for her to follow, Shani went. Moments later, they returned, Thema looking like a frightened deer about to bolt at any moment as she glanced between Essa and the fire. Essa ignored her fear and tossed a pinch of her meager supply of Floo Powder into the flames. Thema actually shrieked when the orange light turned to a poisonous green.

“The trip will be rough,” she warned Thema. “Listen to me very carefully. Step into the fire and say, very clearly, ‘Sekhmet’s Hospital for Magical Healing’. Take a breath before you go in so that you do not inhale the ash. When you get there, wait for me. Do not speak to anyone. Do you understand? It may be dangerous for you if they learn that you are not a witch. Do not speak to anyone.”

Thema nodded, her chin barely moving. She seemed almost paralysed with fear.

“The fire will not hurt,” Essa said. “Go on.”

Hesitantly, Thema stepped up to the fire. She waved a trembling hand over the top of the flames, a look of surprise plastering over her face when she doubtlessly found it to be cool. Nevertheless, she still looked extremely nervous. She looked down at Karim, took a deep breath and stepped into the fire. “Sekhmet’s Hospital for Magical Healing!” Her voice wavered and quavered but the words, to Essa’s immense relief, came out clear. The green fire roared, swallowing Thema and Karim, and when it died down again, both were gone.

“That was amazing,” Shani said with wide eyes.

“Stay here,” Essa reminded her, and dumped her pinch of Floo Powder into the fire. She stepped into it, shouting the hospital’s name. Shani stared back at her with eager eyes as the flames took her. After that, Essa was spiralling through the network, catching glimpses of other fireplaces, twisting and turning in dizzying directions, until at last, she was spat out into the lobby of the hospital. She stood, dusting herself off as she looked for Thema. The Egyptian woman was standing off to the side, pale as her eyes darted from side to side, taking in the white-robed Healers, the odd assortment of magical ailments visible—there was a man with a foot growing on top of his head and a small girl with fairy wings flying overhead as her father desperately tried to hold her down. Upon seeing Essa, her expression melted to relief. “Stay close to me,” Essa whispered.

Thema hovered by Essa’s elbow as they appraoched the counter. The welcome witch looked up with a false smile. “Welcome to Sekhmet’s Hospital,” she said cheerily. “How can I help you today?”

“He has Dragon Pox,” Essa said, gesturing at Karim.

The witch’s expression shifted to mild alarm. “A Healer will be with you in a moment. Have the both of you had your inoculations?”

“Yes,” Essa lied. She had, but Thema, as a Muggle, was not a concern.

“Good, good,” she said. “Healer Said! We have a case of Dragon Pox.”

The Healer, a tall man with heavyset brows looked over them critically. He withdrew his wand, arching an eyebrow when Thema flinched. Essa lay a calming hand on her, though inside, she was tense. He waved a wand over Karim, murmuring and nodding to himself. “Follow me,” he said eventually, setting a brisk pace as he led them deeper into the hospital. “Who diagnosed the Dragon Pox?”

“I did,” Essa said.

“Are you a Healer?”

“No.”

“I only ask because it’s rare for Dragon Pox to be caught so early,” Said said. “Usually, it takes until the child starts breathing fire that people realise it’s Dragon Pox.”

Thema squeaked.

“Is she alright?” Said asked, glancing at Thema.

“She’s fine. Just worried,” Essa said.

“Well, no need to worry. We’ll have him healed up in no time. What’s his name?”

“Karim,” Essa said.

Said drew his wand, conjuring a piece of parchment and transfigured his wand into a quill, which poised itself to take notes. Thema stared at it. “His full name?”

Essa glanced at Thema, silently urging her to speak. She did, albeit very quietly. “Karim Atiyeh,” she said, her eyes constantly looking back to the quill which took notes without direction from Said.

“Date of birth?”

“June twenty-second, 2000.”

“A bit old for Dragon Pox… Place of birth?”

“Masika, Egypt.”

“Standard inoculations?”

Thema hesitated. “No.”

“You didn’t bring him here after giving birth?” Said said curiously. “Unusual…” He eyed Thema for a moment. “Traditionalist family, I suppose?”

Thema nodded uncertainly.

Said sighed. “I see. My office is right here. Let’s see about Karim here, shall we?”

Essa nodded encouragingly at Thema, who skittered into the Healer’s office, clutching Karim tightly to her chest. Said watched their interaction with a furrowed brow that made Essa only more nervous. He directed Thema to lay Karim down on the bed, and proceeded to run more tests, waving his hand over Karim’s chest. Essa lay her hand on Thema’s arm the entire time, trying to calm the woman, who seemed to grow more agitated with each passing minute.

At last, Said stepped back. “A particularly virulent strain,” he said. “But there should be little issue as long as he receives his potions. Young lady, may I speak with you?” This, he directed to Essa, and she rose warily after giving Thema a reassuring squeeze. Thema went to Karim’s side immediately as Said and Essa retreated to the far corner of his office.

“Is something wrong?” Essa said.

“She’s a mundane, isn’t she?” Said said quietly.

Essa pressed her lips together. “And if she is?”

“Laws about mundanes are different in Egypt,” Said replied. “They are a bit… ambiguous. There are mundane-born children, and their parents are, of course, mundane and know about magic. But bringing them to magical areas… it’s not done.”

“And if the child contracts a magical disease like Karim? Is there no measure in place for that?”

“If they bring the child to the big hospitals, then we pick them up. But most of the time, they aren’t exposed to magical diseases until they begin their schooling. I wonder how Karim contracted the Dragon Pox…” Said shook himself. “Regardless, you took a risk, bringing the mundane here.”

“Her name is Thema,” Essa said absently, her thoughts on his speculation. How did Karim contract Dragon Pox?

“Thema,” he allowed. “I will need to keep Karim in observation for the night. But Thema cannot stay here. If my supervisors learn of it, they’ll Obliviate her.”

Essa scowled, and looked to Thema, who sat at Karim’s bedside with red-rimmed eyes. “Do you think she will leave him?”

“She must. Karim will be fine here,” Said insisted. “You can pick him up tomorrow and bring him home.”

“He does not know me,” she said. “His mother came to me when he fell sick. She thought I might have medicine. It will be best if I bring Thema with me.”

Said pursed his lips, looking conflicted. “Very well,” he said eventually. “But please, if you get caught, don’t mention that I knew… I’m risking my job for this.”

“Of course,” Essa said. “I will pay for the fees. Karim can have a room to himself.”

“Oh,” Said said, surprised. “Yes, I suppose if you’re willing… I’ll have everything set up and you can pay as you check him out tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Healer,” she said. She walked over to Thema, relaying what the Healer had said. There was a fair amount of protestation, but eventually, Essa managed to persuade Thema to leave Karim for the night. “We need to talk anyway,” she told the mother. “There is much you should know about the wizarding world. Schooling options, secrecy laws… I can give you and your husband an introduction so that you are not so overwhelmed when the time comes for him to begin his education.” Reluctantly, Thema pulled away from Karim’s bedside. She pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. As they left, Healer Said approached again, giving Thema a kind smile.

“Karim will be in good hands here,” he promised her. “Direct your owl to Altriz Said if you have any further issues.”

Thema glanced at Essa in askance. “We communicate with owls,” Essa said, which received a wary look. Essa sighed; the prospect of explaining the magical world to a deeply superstitious family was not one she relished, but one that had somehow fallen to her anyway. She certainly had her work cut out for her.

——

The next morning, Essa arrived at Sekhmet’s Hospital with Thema and her husband, Amr in tow. All three looked weary, though Thema and Amr looked significantly more so. Essa spied red-rimmed eyes on Thema and the scowling exchange she and Amr shared before they noticed her watching.

Essa had explained as much as she could about the magical world in one night to the parents, though her rather limited knowledge of Egypt’s magical government had proven to be a difficult issue to navigate around. When asked if they could decide not to send Karim to wizarding school, Essa could only tell them that she did not consider the option to be an advisable one, but had no way of informing them of any potential consequences under Egyptian magical law. Their best bet for specific questions, she had said eventually, was to ask Healer Said at the hospital when they went to fetch Karim. Amr had been more reluctant, the superstition that prejudiced him against magic running deeper than his wife’s. As far as Essa could tell, both still loved Karim, but… It worried her, their reactions.

The boy was awake when they entered. Though he looked very confused and frightened, he was clearly in better condition than yesterday. His cheeks were flushed pink and his eyes darted curiously around the room. Upon seeing his parents, a bright, relieved smile lit up his face. Thema let out a great sob and rushed to his side. Amr hung back, more circumspect in his relief.

“Where am I, Baba?” Karim asked in rapid Arabic. “There was a man, he said I was in a hospital but he looked strange, he was wearing a dress…”

Amr swallowed, a disconcerted look crossing his face. He glanced at Thema, and both of them shared a helpless look.

“You are in the hospital, Karim,” Thema said, her voice trembling. “You were… you were very sick. Do you remember?”

“A little,” Karim said. He glimpsed Essa then and his eyes grew very wide. “Mama, it’s the foreigner!”

“Karim,” Thema said, giving him a light slap on his hand. The boy looked instantly contrite. “This is Essa. She helped us bring you here.”

“Hello,” Karim said shyly.

“It is good to see that you are doing better, Karim,” Essa said with a small smile.

The vague friendliness Essa offered seemed enough for his hesitation to fade away, and he leaned forwards, eyeing her with keen interest. “You helped bring me here? Where is here? The people are odd; that doctor waved his hand over me and I glowed like—” He cut himself off, glancing at his parents. He shrunk back at their stricken looks.

“Like magic,” Essa intervened, casting a warning look at them. Thema managed to rearrange her expression into a pained, tight smile, but Amr only paled. “Have you done anything you could not explain, Karim? Brought something to you without touching it or changed something into a different colour?”

His mouth worked for a few moments, but Essa saw that he was not willing to speak in front of his parents—or his father, to be precise, if his anxious glances were any indicator.

“Amr,” Essa said quietly.

He jolted, looking at her with wide eyes.

“Perhaps you would like to take a minute outside,” she suggested. “But remember—don’t speak to anyone.”

“I—yes, that’s—yes, I think I will,” Amr said. He made an aborted movement to ruffle Karim’s hair, and when his hand faltered halfway there, the hurt on Karim’s face was palpable. Amr did not meet any of their eyes as he retreated outside.

“Karim,” Essa said, plucking at his attention again. “Has anything strange ever happened to you?”

“It’s all right,” Thema whispered, clutching her son’s hand.

“I… suppose,” Karim said grudgingly, glancing at Essa.

“Like what?” Essa prompted.

“Like…” He shrugged helplessly. “Sometimes, I can bring birds to me. They bring me gifts—berries, herbs… They always seem to know what I want.”

“And?”

He grew bolder when he saw that Essa looked neither anxious nor alarmed by his confession. Thema, for her part, seemed to believe that if she remained perfectly still then everything would be all right. “One of the older boys was chasing me once and I tripped. I thought he was going to get me, but he turned away like—like he forgot I was there. And I brought water from the ground before, when there was a drought, and Mama was sick—”

“Very good,” Essa said, a smile flickering to life as she watched Karim’s increasing excitement, pouring forth at having the chance to finally share the strange abilities he had and having them explained. “Those incidents, Karim, are called accidental magic. It happens often when a magical child is afraid or angry. I myself once turned my teacher’s hair blue because he was picking on me.”

“Y-You’re like me?” Karim whispered.

“I am a witch,” Essa said with a nod. “You, Karim, are a wizard. Quite a powerful one, I think.” A wave of nostalgia crashed over her at those words, and she remembered, as though it had only been yesterday, when Hagrid had knocked down the door to that awful hut Vernon had rented and told her that she was a witch. She remembered the delight, the disbelief… the simple contentment that came when she understood it was not a dream. She watched all of that play over Karim’s face.

“Can you show me? Magic?” Karim asked.

Essa’s smile faded. “I do not have my wand with me right now,” she lied. His excitement wilted, and Essa felt a twinge of sorrow; she could not even do the simplest thing to give the child the proper, wondrous introduction to magic that he deserved. “The Healer—doctor—will be in soon. He will be able to show you.”

“But the d—Healer could do magic without a wand. Why can’t you?” Karim said.

“Smart child, isn’t he?” Essa said to Thema, wringing a smile from the exhausted mother. “Very well, Karim. The simple answer is that wands are an European invention, one that never really caught on in Africa or the Middle East. I know that Uagadou—the largest school of magic in Africa—has started to teach some wanded magic, but for the most part, African and Middle Eastern wizards and witches favour magic without the use of foci such as wands.”

“And you studied in an… European school?” Karim said hesitantly.

“Yes, I did. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” Fondness seeped into her tone. “You, I expect, will go to Uagadou.”

“What’s magic school like?” Karim asked.

“It depends,” Essa said. “Hogwarts was very old and beautiful. Full of strange things like moving staircases and portraits. There were ghosts, as well—perfectly harmless,” she added upon seeing the look of horror on both Karim and Thema’s faces. “The dead cannot do anything more than talk and make bad jokes.” Most of the time. “I do not know about Uagadou. You must ask your Healer for that… and here he is. Perfect timing, Healer Said.”

Said entered with Amr at his tail. “Welcome back.” He gave her a strange look, and when his eyes flicked up to her forehead in an old, horribly familiar way that she’d not seen in years, Essa froze. “I—”

“Did you tell anyone?” she interrupted, unable to hold the words in.

Said pressed his lips together and shook his head.

“Good.” She glanced towards Karim and his family. “After you speak to them.” She lowered her voice. “The father is uncomfortable.”

“I know, Ms Potter,” Said said, hesitant.

“Essa,” she corrected sharply. “Just Essa.”

He inclined his head. “Essa.”

“I will leave you to it,” she said and gave Thema a nod. “I will return in half an hour.” She fled the room without a backward glance, her heart hammering in her chest. Ms Potter. She’d not heard that name in a while and to be called by it again was… terrifying. She was not sure why the fear that coursed through her was so intense, why it frightened her more than walking to death in the Forbidden Forest. Perhaps it was the threat of discovery? Her mind conjured up images of Daphne, Hermione, Ron, the Weasleys… Teddy…

Her chest seized. She had kept up with news of them over the years, sparse snippets that she doled out to herself when she was on the brink of dying from thirst to know, to see them again, talk to them. Sweet Teddy was due to start Hogwarts in a year. Hermione and Ron had settled down and had had children—Rose and Hugo, whom Essa had never met. And Daphne…

Essa squeezed her eyes shut and tried to shake away Daphne’s face, frozen in achingly familiar laughter as she walked down the streets of Diagon Alley on April 24th, 2006. It had just been a picture in the Daily Prophet but it was the most Essa had seen of her in six years.

Six years.

She scarcely even realised half an hour had passed, so lost in memory she was. She took a deep breath and pulled herself together, piece by piece, until there was some veneer of normality over the stark emotions that ran rampant within her.

Karim, Thema and Amr were sitting quietly in the ward, talking amongst each other when Essa re-entered. Karim, it seemed, was allowing stories of his accidental magic to be coaxed out by Thema, while Amr stood to the side like a statue. One of Amr’s hands rested gingerly on Karim’s shoulder.

She caught Said’s eye, and in silent understanding, they moved to a corner of the room. Said threw up a privacy ward around them and conjured them two chairs. When Essa had settled herself into her seat, every line in her body taut with tension and discomfort, Said spoke. “So,” he said carefully. “You are Jessamine Potter.”

Essa pressed her lips into a vanishingly thin line and nodded. “How did you know?”

“Your Gringotts account,” Said replied. “When you paid for young Karim’s bill.”

“Of course,” she murmured, cursing herself for that careless oversight.

“I don’t mean to pry,” he said. “But… you’re aware that the British Aurors have been looking for you for years?”

“Yes,” Essa said, ruthlessly suppressing the clawing rise of emotions within her.

“They think you are dead.”

“I know. I have kept up with the news in London.”

“So you are not,” he hesitated, wetting his lips in a nervous tic. “You’re not… being held against your will? You have let your friends and family believe you dead for years?”

She heard the judgement and disapproval in his voice, and she fought a flinch. “My reasons are my own,” she said. “But yes. I have stayed away by my own choice, and I do not intend for that to change any time soon.”

Said was curious, she could tell, but he stayed his tongue. “I see,” he said. “You will not be dissuaded.”

“No,” Essa said. “It… pains me to do this to them. But it is for the best.”

“For the best,” he repeated.

“You will not tell anyone?”

“If this is your choice, then it’s not my business, is it?” he said, though he sounded reluctant.

“That… that is good.”

“Does it have to do with that curious bracelet of yours?”

Essa’s hand twitched, shifting behind her robes. She felt the cold sting of iron around her wrist, burning as though its power was invoked by the mere mention of it. “Excuse me?”

“May I see it?” Said said. “I saw the markings, and I felt it when I first met you…”

“No,” Essa said, her voice turning cold. “You may not see it.”

“It’s dark magic,” he warned.

“I am well-aware.”

“This is what has become of Britain’s Saviour then?” Said narrowed his eyes at her. “A Dark witch, dabbling in the vilest arts? What would the world think of you, I wonder, if they knew?”

“Do not test me, wizard,” Essa said. Fury roiled at his words. How dare he? “This bracelet is for both mine and your safety. Threaten me again, and I shall educate you on what kind of vile magic works to protect you from me.”

Said leaned back in his seat, surveying her. “They feel of imprisonment—shackles and chains to bind something. Presumably whatever it is that I need to be protected from.” Essa stilled. The suspicion and hostility in Said’s eyes drained away as if they had never existed, and Essa realised that he had baited her—and she had taken it, like a fool. “If you are cursed, Essa, Sekhmet’s Healers are some of the best in the world. Perhaps we can help you.”

A ghost of hope threatened to bloom to the surface, and so dangerous and agonising that feeling was that Essa smothered it in an instant. It was fool’s gold, and she knew that it was only desperation that fuelled the feeling. “You cannot help me with this,” she said resignedly, and she felt it in her bones to be true. “This curse is beyond known magic.”

“You can’t know tha—”

“I do,” Essa said flatly. “Trust me. This bracelet is the only remedy.”

“Remedy?” Said said, his voice doubtful. “I don’t know what that bracelet does exactly, Essa, but I know that it is no remedy. The feel of it… it’s foul.” He shuddered.

Essa grimaced, knowing what he meant. She could not feel it, not while it was on her wrist, but the few times she did take it off, she could almost taste its magic—the sour, pungent scent of sulphur, and that thick, muddy feel, pressing against her skin like a stain—a taint. “And yet it is the only remedy. Believe me, Healer, your intentions are… good,” she said grudgingly, “but the curse I bear is not one worked by mortal magics.”

His eyes widened. Pity flared in his eyes, but he dipped his head. It was just as well that Egyptian wizards and witches were more superstitious and open to the existence of a higher power, for he understood and accepted what she implied instantly. “Very well,” he said with a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

 _As am I_. The words sat on the tip of her tongue but she swallowed them back. She lounged in self-pity when she was alone in her hut. That was pathetic enough, and she did not want to air it out to strangers. “If that is all.”

“Yes,” Said murmured. “I do believe that’s all.” He paused. “Good luck, Essa.”

“Thank you,” she said after a moment. It rang hollow.

He took down the ward, giving her a last regretful look before they both rejoined Karim and his family in the ward.


	3. Chapter Two: To Live

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, guys! This is a week late because I was doing some last-minute edits for the chapter, which spiralled into an entire rewrite of the chapter.

Karim was allowed to return home on the third day, armed with a small chest of potions and detailed instructions. Essa waited by the Floo exit as Thema and Healer Said went to fetch him and his things from his room. It was early in a Thursday morning, as early as Essa had been able to manage, thus just as the hospital opened for visitors. Few people were in the reception area, only some Healers, a few mediwizards and witches, and two patients.

It took ten minutes for them to emerge from Karim’s room. Essa felt a twinge of warmth as the boy bounded forward, as though he had not been bedridden for days. He faltered for only a beat when he saw her waiting, then his smile returned in full force. “Good morning, Aunt Essa,” he said when he approached, a touch shy. Essa blinked at the address.

“Good morning, Karim,” she said evenly. There was a short pause as Essa decided what to say. “You look well. All better?”

He nodded. “Thank you. Mama says that without you I would have been very ill.”

 _Dead, more like_ , Essa thought, but her skill with people was not so far gone that she actually expressed the thought to the boy. “It is fine,” she said aloud. She shifted uncomfortably. “Healer Said, is everything set?”

“Yes,” the Healer said cheerfully. His eyes crinkled as he looked down at Karim. “You remember which potions to take and when?”

“Red for the mornings and yellow for evenings!” Karim said.

“Precisely. Good lad,” Healer Said said.

“Can you... can you show me again, before we leave?” Karim said, looking up at Healer Said.

“Of course.” Healer Said drew a reed pen from his breast pocket, and twirled it in his fingers. The pen spun, the narrow nib seeming to elongate and grow more fluid with each rotation. The plain black body speckled blue and deep green. In a blink, it transformed, replaced by a small songbird that was certainly not native to Egypt. It took flight, a beautiful bird the colour of the sea, circling around Karim’s head twice much to his delight, before it settled in his hair, roosting. “You may keep him, if you like.”

“Truly?” Karim’s eyes rolled up to the top of his head, his gentle hands hovering around the creature securely. “Will it stay a bird?”

“For a good while, I should think,” Healer Said said. “But if you treat it as a bird and treat it well, perhaps the pen might begin to think of itself as one, and forget that it was ever anything but a bird.”

“I’ll treat it well!” Karim promised. The bird hopped onto one of his fingers, and Karim brought it down to observe. It ruffled its dark feathers, small eyes blinking shut. A soft hum whistled from its breast, a short, simple melody. He stroked the reed-bird with awe, his touch lulling it to sleep.

“And if the Transfiguration wears off, I am sure Miss Essa can assist,” Healer Said said.

“Can you, Aunt Essa?” Karim asked.

Essa tried not to let it show how his choice of address affected her. She found it oddly unsettling, in a way she did not much care for. She forced a smile. “I can try,” Essa lied. “Though Transfiguration was never my best subject.”

“But will it be the same?” Karim wondered. “If it’s a pen again, then a bird once more?”

“If it isn’t a pen again for very long,” Healer Said said. “Objects have better memory than you might think, but they are still, nonetheless, objects.”

“Wow,” Karim said softly. He examined the bird in his hands, the way its wings folded and the graceful curve of its tail.

“Will it need food and water?” Thema spoke up for the first time. Her countenance was stiff, and the expression she wore one of poorly-disguised discomfort.

“As much as any other bird, yes,” Healer Said said. “Not in the sense you might think, but rather to persuade the pen that it is, in fact, a bird. Therefore, it must be treated as a living being, with all the needs of one.”

Thema nodded. She looked at her son, her gaze carefully on the rapture in his expression, and held steadily away from the reed-bird. “Baba is waiting for us at home. Thank Healer Said for his kindness, then we must be off.”

“Thank you, Healer Said,” Karim echoed obediently, but his gratitude was no less sincere for it.

“It’s my job,” the Healer said, grinning. “You’ll grow into a fine young wizard, won’t you?”

“I’ll try.”

Healer Said laughed. It was a nice, throaty sort of laugh, filled with a sweet warmth. His dark eyes turned to Essa. The light humour within them danced. “He’ll try, he says.”

Essa found herself returning the smile.

“Why is that funny?” Thema interjected anxiously.

“Oh, it is nothing,” Essa said.

“Karim shows signs of being quite a talented wizard,” Healer Said explained. “He has a good heart too—very peaceful accidental magic, you see? All fuelled by a desire to help, but never to control or dominate. It’s obvious, to our kind, the sort of wizard he will grow up to be.”

Thema blinked, looking down at her son. There was a strange look on her face, pride warring with an old, instinctive fear she could not quite squash. Karim, for his part, looked rather pleased with himself.

Healer Said added, “Of course, he must still study hard if he wishes to learn to use his magic well.”

“I will,” Karim said hastily, though there was the faintest hint of a blush on his cheeks. “It’s _magic_ —I want to learn all I can.”

“A good attitude,” Healer Said said, approving. A mediwitch called his name. “Ah, it seems I must be off.”

“Thank you, Healer Said,” Thema said. The rigid set of her lips softened, just a touch. “Truly, I—” She broke off, her mouth working for words that she did not know how to express.

Healer Said smiled understandingly. “You are very welcome, madam,” he said. “Karim is a delight. I am honoured to have been able to help him.”

Thema nodded, her lips pressing together. Her eyes shone, and her hand found Karim’s with ease. “Thank you,” she said again.

The mediwitch called Healer Said’s name again, more sharply this time. Looking harried, he took a step away, then paused. “Miss Essa,” he said.

Essa twitched. “Healer Said?”

He looked solemnly upon her, his eyes alight with sincerity. “If you change your mind, you know how to reach me.”

She smiled, empty and false. From the sad look he gave her, he knew it too. “Of course. Thank you for all your help, Healer Said.”

He sighed, but nodded resignedly. As he strode away toward the mediwitch, who looked quite frantic by now, Essa lingered, strangely wrong-footed by a curling thread of dissatisfaction in her belly. Then she followed after Karim and Thema, ignoring the curious look the mother gave her.

“Are we leaving through here?” Karim said, staring at the Floo exit. It was a cut of surface just large enough for one big person to stand in comfortably, of the same make as the marble floors, sunken just a quarter of an inch lower than the rest—unassuming, if one ignored the piles of ash spilling over its edges. A small table stood at its side, with a bowl of Floo powder, and a helpful labelled placard before it.

“Yes,” Essa said. “Don’t worry, you’ll be going with your mother. She’s done it before.”

“Have you, Mama?” Karim asked, tipping his head up with awe-filled eyes.

Grudgingly, Thema nodded. “A few times.”

Mother and son went first, Karim clinging tightly to his mother’s skirts. His stunned expression lit in a flash of green fire before the flames swallowed both of them, and died in the same instant. Essa went next, and was spat out gracelessly onto her rug a moment later. Once she’d reoriented herself, Karim’s chatter began streaming into her ear.

“... bird and I’m supposed to feed it and give it water and treat it like any other bird, or else it’ll forget that it’s a bird and become a pen again! The doctor also uses such strange pens, I’ve never seen them before... they’re not plastic like the ones Baba buys when he goes into the city, and they have to be dipped into ink...”

Essa rose unsteadily, dusting the ash off her robes. Shani, it seemed, had decided to come wait for them in Essa’s sitting room, and a delighted Karim was now regaling her with every minute detail of his little adventure, if it could be called that. Essa could scarcely begrudge him his excitement for magic, however—she remembered well enough her first step into Diagon Alley—even if she wished he would be quieter about it.

She went to get drinks, pulling out dusty cups and one that was even cracked, held together by Spellotape and copious amounts of glue, from the cupboard. She kept the bad cup for herself, and after serving her guests, sat down next to Thema on the sofa. Water dripped down her fingers, leaking steadily from her cup.

“Can you not fix that?” Thema surprised her by asking.

“This?” Essa swirled the water in her cup.

“Yes.” She hesitated. “With magic.”

“There is a spell for it, yes.”

“Why do you keep it that way then?”

“There are limits to magic.” Essa ran her finger along the fine crack in the glass. “You can only fix something so often before it simply refuses to be fixed.”

“How many times did you break that cup before it started to refuse?”

Essa shrugged. “Enough.” Karim was now covering the Floo trip home, and how nauseous it made him feel. He did not seem particularly put out by that. As his chatter washed over her, she felt something stir in her—an old appreciation for magic, that she’d thought she’d lost as a child. Dusty words rose to her lips, unbidden, and as she spoke to Thema she found herself expressing thoughts she’d not even known she’d possessed. “Magic is complex,” Essa said slowly. “I will not lie to you and say that it is all beauty and innocence, or perhaps illusions little more than parlour tricks, and therefore utterly without danger. Magic is... a partner. It works with us toward a vision, and sometimes, that vision may not be of kindness. Cruel wizards and witches have done terrible things with their magic, and they will continue to do so for as long as humans know cruelty. But so have the good among us used their magic for betterment—to protect, heal and perhaps more simply, as a way of life. I can only imagine the fear you have for your son, but you need never fear his magic. To a witch or wizard, magic is the truest friend one may have; it will always guide and protect us, and one can never be alone while their magic is with them.”

“Is it alive?” Thema said. “You speak as though it is.”

“It depends on who you ask,” Essa said. “The common witch or wizard will inform you that it is nothing but a tool, and they will not be able to tell you where the source of their magic is. Someone more informed might know of what our researchers say: which is that magic is akin to an extra limb, an inextricable part of us, yet still without its own agency.”

“What do you think?”

“I _know_ magic is alive.” Essa gave the other woman a small smile. “Would you like to see? I can teach Karim a spell, if you permit it. Something simple.”

“Like what?” Thema asked warily.

“Something to lift small things?” Essa suggested. “Or I could teach him to conjure a small light.”

“A fire?”

“No. Just a light. Harmless.”

After a moment, Thema gave a slow nod.

“Karim,” Essa called, interrupting his babble. He was repeating his story again, going over it in even more detail to a riveted Shani.

“Aunt Essa?” He turned large brown eyes upon her.

“Would you like to try a bit of magic?”

“Yes.” The word fell from Karim’s lips even before she’d finished her question.

Shani laughed. “Oh, this is so exciting,” she said gleefully.

“Come here,” Essa said, smiling, and he tumbled over to her side in an instant. “Now, this is a simple, but useful spell, which will conjure a ball of light for you. But first, I want you to tell me—where does your magic come from?”

“Um,” Karim said. A look for trepidation flickered over his face when no answer came to him.

“Don’t worry,” Essa said. “It is not commonly known, even among grown witches and wizards. Let me rephrase, then: when you call birds to your side and draw water from the sand, what do you feel? Not emotionally, but physically.”

The boy’s brows sank into a deep furrow. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I can’t remember.”

“Try,” Essa said gently.

He was quiet for a long while, thinking hard. What she asked of him was difficult, Essa knew. The difficulty was in the intensity of emotion—accidental magic was powered by strong emotions. Fear, anger, sadness… rarely, happiness. They were often feelings powerful enough to elicit a physiological response in the body, and it became difficult, then, to separate what was caused by emotion and what was caused by the triggering of magic in their bodies. “Warm,” Karim said at last. “I think I felt warm.”

“Very good,” Essa said, pleased.

“But everyone feels warm,” Karim said doubtfully.

“Of course,” she replied. “But you think it is different, else you would not have raised it. My experience of it is that the warmth moves. At first, you don’t notice it. But the warmth is moving throughout your body, all over, and you can feel its very flow in your body. It comes alive when your magic does.”

Karim’s eyes were wide. “Yes!” he said excitedly. He seemed disbelieving, almost afraid. He had not thought to find anyone who could understand what he felt, and knew scarcely how to even put into words. “Something like that.”

“That,” Essa said, “is our magic. Magic is life—as is blood. It courses in our veins, moves with our blood, together but separate entities, and infuses our cells, our tissue and our organs. It is not something tangible. We cannot draw our blood out in a needle and capture magic within a tube to prod at and examine at leisure. Done as such, magic may still linger in the blood, but it becomes inert. Inactive.Almost undetectable, in fact. Would you like to guess why?” She threw this question out to Shani and Thema; the theory here had grown esoteric, and, she thought, too obscure for Karim, who, while smart, was only seven-years-old.

So she was surprised when he did grasp it, before either of the adults did. “Because magic is life,” Karim said. There was breathlessness in his voice, and when Essa looked at him, she saw within his child-like eyes an awe of magic that belonged to older minds. An approving smile spread over her face, slow and steady. He ducked his head when he saw it, a blush staining his cheeks.

“Precisely,” Essa said. “Magic is life. Take it away from life—our bodies—then it withers and dies, like any living being. Congratulations, Karim—you have completed your first lesson in magical theory.”

Thema drew Karim in close, giving him a faint smile. He grinned back, accepting the wordless compliment with shy, bursting pride. “What about the spell?” he asked.

Essa laughed softly. “Its steps are quite simple. Hold out your hands, palms up.” He followed her instructions quickly. “Now, repeat after me—Lumos.” She shivered as a ghostly warmth crept over her shoulders. Quickly, she shrugged it off.

“Lumos,” Karim said. His hands remained empty, the air within them still.

“Remember the feeling of magic,” she told him. “It is easier with practice.”

“Lumos,” he tried again. “Lumos. Lumos. Lumos!”

“Slower. Take a deep breath. Do not be so hasty—you are doing this without a wand, which many European witches and wizards use to help with casting. Even then, it takes them quite a few tries to get right the first time.”

“Is it different?” Karim said, staring down at his hands intensely.

“A little. But not really,” Essa said. “I never quite got the knack of wandless magic, but from my experience, it simply requires a bit more discipline and familiarity with the spell.”

“Lumos.” He sighed when still no ball of light appeared. “Can I try it with a wand?”

“You’re impatient,” Essa said. “Calm yourself. You have a head start on most young witches and wizards your age. You know what magic feels like. Listen to it. Find it.”

“I’m trying,” Karim said sullenly.

“Karim,” Thema said, her tone warning. “Listen to Aunt Essa. She’s telling you to calm down.” She pressed a thumb into the folds between his brows. “This does not look calm.”

“Sorry, Mama,” Karim muttered.

“Take your time with it,” Essa said. “In the meantime, will you be staying for dinner, Shani, Thema?”

Shani glanced outside the window. “Oh, it’s late! I hadn’t even realised.”

“We cannot stay,” Thema said, frowning. “Amr has no dinner.”

Essa shrugged. “Bring him. I wish to speak to both of you more about Karim’s schooling, anyway.”

“You’ve already told us much,” Thema said. “We’re very grateful.”

“I have told you about magic and its history,” Essa corrected. “Tonight, we can talk about Uagadou—that is the foremost magical school in Africa.”

“Are there others?” Thema asked as they moved toward the kitchen.

“Here and there. But Uagadou is the best.”

“Where is it?”

Essa frowned. “I am not sure. Central Africa? The top magical schools tend to pride their secrecy. It is a tradition, of a sort. Uagadou is among the most secretive, however…” She pulled out some ingredients from the fridge, shooing Thema away when she attempted to assist. “Go bring your husband,” she said. “I will do the cooking—I am quite capable of it, thank you.”

“She does cook very well,” Shani said.

“And what is Hussein having for dinner?” Thema asked pointedly.

“His colleague.”

Essa snorted, but Thema found her comment less amusing. She glanced to the sitting room, where Karim was still feverishly muttering ‘Lumos’. “Shani!”

“Or maybe it’s Mariam’s girl—you know the one, young and well-endowed. He has his type, you know.” Shani rolled her eyes. “Anyway, he will doubtlessly be ‘working late’, and will have to miss dinner. A true tragedy.”

“Perhaps if you spent more time with him, he might not be looking for company elsewhere,” Thema said. “You never gave him a chance, did you?”

“Well, he has always been very dull,” Shani said. She flashed Essa a small grin, and Essa fought down her smile. “Did you know, when we first met, he asked me if I could cook koshari? It is his favourite dish, you see.”

“Can you?” Essa asked.

“No,” Shani said. “But my mother told him I could. So we were engaged. She usually tries a bit harder to make a good match, but I think she was running out of men in the village.”

Essa’s lips twitched. “I wonder why.”

“I can’t imagine,” Shani said, wide-eyed and dimpled. “I’m a delight.”

Thema muttered some rather unflattering words under her breath, shaking her head. “You are a menace,” she said finally.

——

Dinner ended with Karim managing a tiny spark of light, bursting into life in his palms for the briefest moment before it vanished again. Shani burst into delighted applause, while Essa allowed herself a pleased smile. “Now that you have gotten a bit of it, the rest should come quickly,” Essa told him. “Keep practicing, and perhaps you will have it by the time I see you next.”

“Okay,” Karim said, weary. His eyes drooped shut, even as he smiled proudly at his achievement.

“He will be fine with a bit of sleep,” Essa said as Thema fussed over him. “It is a lot for a young boy.”

Shani collected the dirty plates and wiped down the table. Essa knew from experience that she would not allow her to help—the chef, Shani liked to say, does not wash the dishes. So Essa sat down in the sitting room with Thema and Amr, while Karim dozed in his mother’s lap. She spoke to the young parents softly of what she knew of Uagadou—which was not much, when it came down to it, and many of the questions they asked, Essa could not answer. Or, the questions that Thema asked, at least. Amr’s discomfort with magic was still clear to see, though he seemed to have improved from the last time Essa had seen him. He had only paled and swayed a little when Karim had performed his rudimentary Lumos.

They left around nine in the night, waving goodbye to her and Shani, and when the door swung shut on them, Essa let loose a huff of air and fell backwards onto her sofa. “Merlin, I’m tired,” she muttered, first in English then Arabic for Shani’s benefit.

“Thank you for being so patient with Thema and Amr,” Shani said, handing her a glass of cool water.

Essa eyed the clear liquid, then shook her head. An impish smile quirked on her lips. “I say something stronger is well-deserved, no?”

Shani smiled back slowly. “Something stronger, indeed.”

“I keep my best hidden—I think you will like this very much. It is called Firewhiskey.”

“Firewhiskey?” Shani said.

“The best wizarding liquor.” Essa pulled out a very dusty bottle from the back of her cabinet.

“Wizarding liquor?” Her friend had scrambled up for a better look, observing as closely as she could the shine of the amber liquid encased within the bottle.

“I was saving it,” Essa said. “But better it is drunk with a friend for celebration, than alone for self-pity.”

“You’re very funny,” Shani said, rolling her eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” Essa said. She smoothed a thumb over the label, squinting. “This one, I believe, was bottled in 1218, Scotland, and this one is only the third bottling, which means the flavour is still preserved.”

“1218? Did they even have whiskey then?”

“Wizards did,” Essa said. She opened the bottle with a sharp twist of the wrist. From the rim, wispy smoke curled out, dark and grey. “Glasses, please.”

Shani quickly handed over the two glasses. “What do you mean that it is the third bottling?” she asked as she watched Essa carefully measure out a equal amounts of whiskey into the cups.

“Well, in magical production of liquors—and maybe some teas—it is not so much when it was bottled that matters as much as how many times it has been _duplicated_. There is a spell, you see, that can automatically refill any kind of liquid. This bottle here has been refilled twice, so it is on its third bottling,” Essa explained. “But each bottling loses some of its flavour, and around the sixth or seventh it starts to taste like pisswater. Personally, I find the second bottling tastes best, while the third hits hardest.”

Shani gaped. “That’s _cheating_.”

“That’s magic,” Essa corrected, grinning. “Here you go.”

They clinked their glasses together. Essa downed hers in a go, feeling the burn flash like a burst of flame in her throat. She let it out in a practiced huff, and a lick of red fire danced out in a steady stream, then flickered away. Shani choked on her own sip when she saw this, and her flames came out in sputtering, limp sparks. “There’s fire!” she squeaked, clapping her hand over her mouth.

Essa laughed, throwing her head back. “There is fire.”

“Oh, I have to try that again,” Shani said.

“Excellent attitude,” Essa approved, pouring her a more generous amount this time.

They each had a little more of the Firewhiskey, laughing and chatting until the ground beneath their feet grew loose. Essa had not had an easy moment for the past few days, since Thema had turned up on her doorstep, and this was the most relaxed she’d felt since. Once she achieved the pleasant buzz in her belly, Essa stowed away the Firewhiskey.

“I can still hardly believe it,” Shani said, wondering. “An entire world of magic, right under our noses! It must have been amazing, growing up in it.”

“I did not grow up in it,” Essa admitted. Shani blinked owlishly at her—Essa was often careful with her past, only mentioning that she’d grown up in England, and had worked in Egypt before deciding to move here permanently. But drink had loosened her tongue tonight, as well as the relief of at last being able to speak about her magical history, and Essa found herself divulging far more to her friend than she’d ever done before. “I grew up with mundanes—my aunt, uncle and cousin. My parents were magical, but they’d died in a wizarding war. My relatives knew about it. They never told me though, until I received my invitation to Hogwarts—England’s school of magic. They did not like magic very much, see.”

Shani looked stricken. “Oh.”

Essa gave a wry smile. “Wizards have wars too,” she said, her tone withering with an old bitterness. “I suppose they are mere scuffles by mundane standards. Ours is not a very large community.”

“Is that why you left? War?”

“No, the war had ended when I left,” Essa said. She finished off the last of her Firewhiskey. “You have to be getting home soon, I think.” It was well past ten, and almost approaching eleven.

Shani nodded reluctantly. She did not push further, though Essa sensed that she wanted to. “Hussein will be back soon,” she sighed. “I don’t want to go yet. I don’t suppose you can magic me back home? Go through that green fire?”

“Sorry,” Essa said. “You’re not connected to the Floo network.”

“ _Bollocks_ ,” Shani said. “Did I get that right?”

Essa laughed. If her smile was a bit tight, Shani said nothing of it. “Not bad.” She stood, offering Shani her arm. “Come on. I will walk you home.”

“Thank you,” Shani said, holding onto the proffered limb tightly. They walked out into the cool desert night together, a little unsteady on their feet. There was a bit of giggling and tripping, but they managed well enough. “I’m sorry about your parents.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“How old were you?”

“Fifteen months.”

“That’s horrible.”

“I have pictures. My parents’ friends told me stories. And I have a vague memory or two,” Essa said. “They loved me. That is enough.”

“If you say so,” Shani said doubtfully.

 _It has to be_ , Essa thought, feeling quite melancholic tonight. But she kept the thought to herself, and the topic changed to lighter things for the rest of the walk. By the time, she watched Shani’s figure disappear into the darkness of her empty home, Essa had managed to forget the yawning twist of loneliness in her chest.

For now, at least.

——

**Author's Note:**

> So, I recently started a blog!
> 
> It's called Em's Scribblings—right now, it's still pretty empty, but I'm planning on a flash fiction series called the Diary of A Wimpy Cat, which is a series of short diary-like entries written from the perspective of a (my) cat. I'm planning to include fanfiction content as well, but I'm not entirely sure what shape that will take yet. If there is a decent enough following from my fanfiction works, I may start posting fic updates/news there.
> 
> But anyway, if any of you decide to take the time to check it out, I'd appreciate it lots! Though, like I said, it's still pretty empty.
> 
> Link: emscribblings.com


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